


We All Are Healed

by enigmaticblue



Series: The Wounds 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gift of healing doesn’t seem like much compensation for what Jimmy has lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We All Are Healed

Jimmy stares at the papers in front of him. Fifteen years of his life has been reduced to a few pages. He knows he probably ought to read the divorce decree, but he’s given Amelia everything. The only thing he’d asked for is time with Claire when he’s in town, and Amelia had given that to him immediately.

 

All Jimmy has to do is sign his name, but he can’t bring himself to pick up the pen.

 

Dean clasps Jimmy’s shoulder. “Do you need some more time? You don’t have to do this now.”

 

Jimmy glances over, meeting Dean’s eyes. They’re alone in a conference room, where Amelia and her attorney had left them half an hour ago. Jimmy had asked Dean to stay, because he’s not sure he wants to be alone right now. “Yes, we do have to do this now. When else?”

 

“I don’t know, man,” Dean admits. “But we can wait.”

 

Dean’s hand is still on Jimmy’s shoulder, a warm and comforting weight, and Jimmy flushes. _This_ is one more reason to end his marriage—he’s had a crush on Dean for months now, and it’s not going away. Jimmy knows he doesn’t have a chance with Dean; he knows that Dean isn’t interested in men. But Amelia deserves a chance to move on, and Jimmy understands that fact better than Amelia knows.

 

“No, we can’t,” Jimmy says, and picks up the pen decisively. He signs and pushes the papers away. And then Jimmy pulls off his wedding ring for the final time and sets it on top of the decree.

 

When he rises, Dean stands with him. “That’s done,” Jimmy says, and Dean squeezes Jimmy’s shoulder. “Thanks for being here.”

 

“Yeah, sure. I owe you,” Dean replies, and Jimmy knows he means it. He doesn’t want Dean to _owe_ him, though; Jimmy knows how close he’d been to taking his own life before Dean had extended the invitation.

 

Jimmy’s living on borrowed time anyway, so what does it matter when his life finally ends?

 

When they emerge into the lobby, Amelia stands to greet him, wearing an expectant expression. “Is it—?”

 

“It’s done,” Jimmy assures her. “I left—” He has to pause to clear his throat. “I left my ring. You can do whatever you want with it. I just…”

 

Jimmy has no idea how to explain that in this life he’s living now, it’s all too likely that he’ll lose it between one stop and the next. His ring is safer with Amelia, even if he’d rather not give it up.

 

“I’ll keep it safe for you,” she promises, and Jimmy thinks she’s always understood him better than he understands himself. “Do you—do you want to go to dinner?” Amelia looks at Dean when she asks, making it clear that the invitation is meant for him, too.

 

Dean glances briefly at Jimmy and seems to read Jimmy’s acceptance. “Yeah, sure. Why not? I know Jimmy’d like to spend some time with Claire while we’re in town.”

 

Jimmy takes a deep breath and manages a smile. “Yeah, that would be good.”

 

The dinner almost has a celebratory feel, although Jimmy knows that’s more a product of being together than ending their marriage. He focuses on Claire and the thousand stories she has to tell him. Jimmy mostly listens when he sees her; he doesn’t talk about hunting, or angels or demons, or anything else related to the supernatural. That’s the deal he’s struck with Amelia, and Jimmy means to keep it.

 

It’s no hardship to listen to his daughter, to focus on the mundane matters of a normal life, and to forget that he’s lost everything he once held dear.

 

When he glances up, Dean and Amelia are deep in conversation, and Jimmy spares a moment to marvel at how well they seem to get along. Dean makes Amelia laugh, and she seems to trust him. Jimmy can’t help but think that he’s not what either of them need—Jimmy is no longer the man Amelia married, and he’s not the person Dean would prefer to have at his side. Dean wants Sam, or maybe Castiel in a pinch, but he’s never wanted Jimmy.

 

Jimmy’s just grateful that Dean puts up with him.

 

“Daddy?”

 

Jimmy pulls his attention away from Dean and Amelia and refocuses on Claire. “Yeah, baby?”

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“You can ask me anything,” Jimmy promises.

 

“Do you ever think about _him_?”

 

Jimmy doesn’t have to ask to whom Claire is referring; there’s only one person she could mean. He finds it somewhat ironic that of all the people he knows, Claire is the one who best understands what it’s like to serve as a vessel. He and Claire have always been close, but he could have done without _this_ connection, even if it helps her to understand why he had to leave.

 

He wants to lie to her, to say that he doesn’t miss Castiel, that if he thinks about being a meat-suit, it’s with bitterness and anger, and never regret that Castiel eventually left.

 

But Jimmy has promised his daughter that she could ask him anything, and he’s made a promise to himself that he will be as honest as he can.

 

After a long pause, Jimmy admits, “Yes, I think about him.”

 

“Sometimes,” Claire says softly, “I miss him a lot. It’s like I have an empty space inside me where Castiel used to be.”

 

Jimmy closes his eyes. He deeply regrets that his daughter knows the same aching sense of loss he does. “Yes,” he finally says. “It’s just like that, but you have to promise me something, Claire.”

 

She nods.

 

“You have to promise me that you won’t say yes again. Not _ever_ , and not for any reason.”

 

He’s grateful that Dean is occupying Amelia, that he can believe he’s alone with his daughter, and that he doesn’t have to see Amelia’s disapproving frown. Amelia hates it when Jimmy mentions Castiel, and she especially hates it when he talks about the supernatural in front of Claire.

 

Claire’s eyes go to his empty ring finger, and she nods slowly. “I promise, Dad. I won’t say yes.”

 

Jimmy nods. “Good. Thank you. If anything were to happen to you…” He trails off, unable to articulate what that would mean for him, for Amelia. They have all lost too much to lose Claire, too, when a simple “no” would save her.

 

Jimmy doesn’t know that either of them could refuse to serve as Castiel’s vessel, having already given their assent, but he has to believe that it’s possible. Jimmy has to believe that they can say no, that he can spare his daughter this fate. She still has a chance at being normal, and he’ll give her every opportunity that he can.

 

Jimmy has to believe that _he_ has a choice; otherwise, his life will be even emptier—just marking time until Castiel returns to claim him again.

 

“I get it, Dad,” Claire insists, and she sounds so grownup, it makes Jimmy’s chest ache. “I’ll be careful.”

 

“You ready to go?” Dean asks, breaking into their conversation, grimacing a little as though he regrets the interruption.

 

Jimmy looks around the restaurant, realizing that they are the only patrons remaining. “Yeah, I guess we ought to get going.”

 

He drags his feet a bit as they amble out to the parking lot, wishing that the evening didn’t have to end, wishing he could postpone the inevitable just a little longer. He feels as though this goodbye is the last, and Jimmy knows that everything will be different the next time they roll through Pontiac.

 

Meeting Amelia’s eyes, Jimmy manages a smile. “Thanks for dinner.”

 

“It’s the least I could do,” she replies. “Jimmy…”

 

He opens his arms, and she comes to him then, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Her breath hitches, and Jimmy feels the dampness of her tears against his skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

 

Jimmy knows that she’s apologizing because she can’t ask him to stay, because even though they still love each other, it’s not enough. It’s not her fault; it’s not Jimmy’s fault. It just _is_.

 

“I know,” he says. “I love you.”

 

Jimmy knows this is the last time he’ll allow himself to say those words. He’ll always love Amelia, but she’s not his any longer, and she never will be again.

 

“I love you, too,” she says, and repeats, “I’m sorry.”

 

Amelia releases him and hugs Dean, whispering something in his ear that makes him smile. “We’ll be through again soon,” Dean promises.

 

Claire wraps her thin arms around Jimmy, and he wonders at how tall she’s getting. She’s nearly up to his chin now. “Come back soon,” she demands.

 

“As soon as we can, munchkin,” he says, his words for her ears alone. “I love you. _Always_.”

 

“I know. I love you, too, Daddy.”

 

“Call you tomorrow,” he promises, and then releases her reluctantly. “Be good, baby.”

 

“I will.” She manages a smile. “Save lots of people.”

 

“We’ll do the best we can.”

 

Jimmy releases her, lets Amelia load Claire into her car and drive away, and then he slides into the passenger seat of the Impala.

 

“You going to be okay?” Dean asks.

 

Jimmy nods. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. What did Amelia say to you?”

 

Dean smiles briefly. “She told me to take care of you.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Jimmy bursts out, unable to help himself. “If I’m a burden…”

 

“Dude, you saved my fucking life,” Dean says, shutting him down easily. “I owe you.”

 

And that’s the problem, Jimmy thinks. He and Dean have been thrown together by chance and circumstance; it doesn’t feel as though Dean made a choice.

 

“You saved _my_ life first,” Jimmy finally counters. “If you hadn’t—”

 

“We’re not having a chick flick moment, are we?” Dean asks suspiciously.

 

Jimmy laughs. “No. Definitely not.”

 

“Good.” Dean glances over at him. “You okay with this?”

 

Jimmy leans his head against the window. “‘Okay’ might be too strong a word.”

 

Dean throws him a sympathetic look, but he says nothing else, and Jimmy thinks that if Claire is the person who best understands what it’s like to ride a comet, Dean is the one who understands what it’s like to lose everything you hold dear.

 

~~~~~

 

The first job after Jimmy signs the papers is a relatively easy one—a simple salt and burn that’s become routine. He’s been to Chicago before, and they don’t have a lot of time to explore, but they wander along the Navy Pier before leaving town. They stop at a bar along the way, and Dean buys a couple of rounds—whiskey with a beer chaser.

 

“Just think,” Dean says out of the blue as they watch the crowd. “A few months ago, you couldn’t shoot straight.”

 

Jimmy glances over at him, unsure what Dean is trying to say. “Yeah?”

 

“You’ve done better than anyone had any right to expect, Jimmy,” Dean says.

 

Jimmy swallows. “Thanks. I’m still no good with the 9 mil, though.”

 

“That’ll come in time,” Dean replies. “I’ve been handling weapons since I was 6 or 7.”

 

Jimmy realizes belatedly that this is Dean’s attempt at cheering him up, trying to lessen the sting of his marriage ending, and he remembers that Dean has promised to look out for him.

 

“Thanks,” he manages, staring at the gauze peeking out from under his jacket sleeves. Jimmy doesn’t wear short sleeves anymore, not unless Dean’s the only person who’s going to see him. He doesn’t like the stares he gets from strangers, who see the bandages and leap to the obvious conclusion.

 

“You still think it’s enough? Healing people?”

 

Jimmy toys with the hem of his jacket to give himself a little time to respond. He doesn’t know how to tell Dean that the thought of his next healing is the only thing keeping him going some days. It’s a rush, being able to do what he does, and Jimmy wonders—not for the first time—what he’d do if he ever took the pain medications that the doctors had first prescribed.

 

He doesn’t take anything stronger than aspirin because he fears that it would be all too easy to become addicted.

 

Healing—it’s a rush, but at least he’s doing some good while he’s at it.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy admits quietly. “I feel—” He struggles with the words. “I feel like I’m doing the right thing, but that doesn’t always make up for what I’ve lost.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. “I know what you mean.”

 

They finish their drinks without saying much more. Jimmy still hasn’t made much progress at shooting pool, so there’s no point in trying to hustle some fast cash. Instead, they head back to the Impala, and they sleep in the car once they’re a couple hundred miles outside of Chicago.

 

The next job takes them to Wichita, Kansas, and Jimmy’s used to the drive by now, used to stopping along deserted stretches of road to practice shooting at unmoving targets.

 

Jimmy _is_ getting better; he misses fewer targets than he hits, at least, and he’s had his aim tested enough to know that he can hit a moving target—sometimes. There’s something soothing about target practice—Dean murmuring quiet instructions in Jimmy’s ear, correcting Jimmy’s aim with gentle touches.

 

Jimmy looks forward to these quiet moments spent with Dean, to Dean touching him, even it’s with no other goal than to make Jimmy a better hunter. He looks forward to Dean helping him to change his bandages, too, and for much the same reason. Dean doesn’t touch him otherwise, and Jimmy appreciates the human contact.

 

Jimmy misses Amelia’s touch and Claire’s hugs almost more than the quiet certainty that he knew his place in the world.

 

The vampires in Wichita prove more difficult than any of the other previous hunts. Dean expresses some concern from the outset—Jimmy’s constant bleeding makes it impossible to hide his presence. In the end, Dean reluctantly agrees to use Jimmy as bait, using his infirmity to give them an edge.

 

It turns out not to be much of an edge.

 

There’s a brief moment when Jimmy is certain that he’s going to be turned before Dean chops the head off the vampire threatening him, and he slumps to the dirty ground in the alley when he’s released.

 

Jimmy can smell refuse and urine, and he struggles to breathe through his mouth, not his nose. He knows that he’s living on borrowed time, but he hates the idea of dying at the hand of one of those creatures. He hates the thought of dying _here_ , in the midst of filth and decay.

 

Once, Jimmy had believed that he would die an old man, surrounded by his family and his friends. That’s what he’d wanted.

 

Now, he accepts the hand that Dean holds out to him and thinks he’s more likely to die a violent death.

 

“Thank you,” Jimmy says. “That was close.”

 

“Too close,” Dean agrees. “You okay?”

 

“Fine.” Jimmy wipes the vampire’s blood from his face with the sleeve of his jacket, knowing that the stain was going to be a bitch to get out later. “Look, I know we haven’t talked about this, but if something happens—”

 

“Don’t,” Dean says shortly.

 

“But if something happens—”

 

“We are not fucking talking about this,” Dean snaps. “I told Amelia I’d take care of you, and I will, so just shut the fuck up, Jimmy.”

 

Dean’s tone is savage, and Jimmy shuts his mouth with a snap. “Okay,” he manages faintly.

 

Dean sighs. “Dammit, Jimmy. Nothing is supposed to happen to you.”

 

“And you?” Jimmy demands. “How long do you think I’d last without you?”

 

“You’d get by.”

 

“You’re not replaceable,” Jimmy argues, but he swallows his next words, because he doesn’t want to reveal too much.

 

Dean just shakes his head, though. “We’re so fucked up.”

 

It’s a familiar refrain, and Jimmy allows Dean to pull him along towards the car, one hand tight around Jimmy’s upper arm.

 

“Let’s find a place to get some sleep,” Dean suggests.

 

Jimmy figures they deserve real beds tonight after spending a couple of nights in the Impala, and so he doesn’t argue.

 

“We’re getting kind of short on cash,” Dean says as they limp back to the car, both of them having been tossed around by the vampires. “So, hustling is next on the list of things you’ve got to learn.”

 

“I’ve never been good at pool,” Jimmy admits in the same tone of voice he’d admitted to never having fired a gun.

 

Dean just smirks at him. “Don’t worry about it. If we play our cards right, that’s going to work in our favor.”

 

~~~~~

 

As promised, Dean spends every moment they’re not in the middle of a hunt teaching Jimmy how to be a card shark, and when they have access to a pool table, how to be a pool shark.

 

Counting cards comes easily to Jimmy, but pool requires more coordination than he probably possesses. After a third night at the pool tables with Jimmy missing more shots than he makes, Dean says, “Okay, new plan. _You_ play poker, and _I’ll_ take everyone on at pool.”

 

Jimmy has been thinking about just that idea, and he suggests, “You know, I could play internet poker.”

 

“Does card counting work online?” Dean asks skeptically.

 

Jimmy shrugs. “I played occasionally. Not often, and never for much money, but once in a while I’d play a round of poker online.”

 

“Did you win anything?” Dean asks.

 

Jimmy smiles. “Enough so that Amelia didn’t mind.”

 

He and Amelia hadn’t had many secrets between them, and Jimmy had never played poker without her implicit approval. If he’d lost more than a couple hundred dollars at a time, Amelia would have called him on it, but Jimmy won more often than he lost, and he had always stopped before losing too much. His responsibility to Amelia and Claire had prevented any recklessness on his part.

 

Dean gives him a hard look. “Okay, go for it. Just don’t lose too much.”

 

Jimmy spends most of the next night playing poker online, determined to prove himself an asset to Dean in this one area at least. The light from the computer screen cast a dim light on the dingy motel room as Dean sleeps and Jimmy makes $200.

 

It’s not much, but he’s not willing to take the necessary risks to make more.

 

When Jimmy tumbles into bed, it’s past 3 am, and he’s both exhausted and wired. He lies there, contemplating the ceiling for a very long time, wondering at how far he’s fallen.

 

Jimmy had done his research when the stigmata had first appeared; the wounds were supposed to represent a blessing, and his ability to heal had confirmed that fact. Now, he makes his living through playing poker and other dishonest efforts, in between saving lives and spending hours on the road.

 

Surely, this isn’t what being blessed really meant.

 

Jimmy doesn’t sleep much that night. When Dean shakes him awake the next morning, he’s groggy and sluggish, but he manages to drag himself out of bed. The shower wakes him up a bit, and the coffee helps even more. Dean’s grin when Jimmy tells him how much he’s won in one night is better compensation than the cash.

 

“You done good, Jimmy,” Dean says, slinging an arm around Jimmy’s shoulders.

 

“Thanks,” Jimmy replies, and feels like he’s pulling his own weight for the first time.

 

~~~~~

 

From Wichita, they head to South Dakota, and Jimmy has no idea what he’s in for until they pull up in front of Singer’s Salvage yard.

 

“I thought we had a job,” Jimmy says flatly.

 

“We do have a job,” Dean replies. “Bobby has a job for us, and I haven’t seen him for a while. Got a problem with that?”

 

Since Jimmy’s there on Dean’s sufferance, he doesn’t argue. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

 

“Why does that hold an element of sarcasm?” Dean asks.

 

Jimmy offers Dean his most innocent expression. “I have no idea.”

 

Bobby greets them at the front door, welcoming Dean with a hug and Jimmy with a brief handshake. Jimmy isn’t sure that Bobby is entirely happy about his presence, but Dean doesn’t give him a chance to object.

 

“Good to see you again, Bobby,” Dean says, but he doesn’t mention a hunt, and Jimmy decides that he’d better keep his mouth shut. “How’ve you been?”

 

“You’d know if you called more than once every six months,” Bobby grumbles, but there’s no heat in his tone. “Come on in. I have a pot of soup on the stove.”

 

The soup is chicken noodle, and Jimmy nearly inhales his first bowl. When Bobby refills Jimmy’s dish, he applies himself to the second helping.

 

“Looks like there’s a werewolf in Fargo,” Bobby says as he pushes back from the table. He leans back in his chair and takes a long drink from his beer. “I’ve got another job on the line, and you’ve got a partner.”

 

Dean grunts his agreement. “Werewolves are better handled with two people.”

 

Jimmy isn’t quite sure that he qualifies as a partner, but he isn’t going to argue with the term.

 

“You two spending the night here?” Bobby asks.

 

Dean picks at the label on his bottle of beer. “Yeah, we might as well.”

 

“Guest room is free,” Bobby says. “And the couch is open.”

 

“Jimmy can take the bed.” Dean shoots Jimmy a look he can’t read. “You’ll sleep better that way.”

 

“What about you?” Jimmy argues.

 

Dean just shakes his head. “Werewolves can get messy, Jimmy. You need to be well-rested.”

 

Jimmy knows that Dean is referring to the possibility that Jimmy will have to heal someone, and Dean’s right about that much at least. Healing someone leaves Jimmy drained for days afterward—exhausted and shaky—and it’s worse if he’s already tired or injured.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Jimmy agrees.

 

He takes the second beer when Bobby offers and sips it slowly, letting Dean and Bobby’s conversation flow over him. Jimmy wonders if Dean notices he’s relaxing by inches in Bobby’s company, the ever-present tension in Dean’s shoulders dissipating moment by moment. Jimmy feels shut out in the face of Dean and Bobby’s obvious camaraderie.

 

They don’t mean to shut him out, of course, but when they get to talking about past hunts, about other hunters, about monsters, Jimmy cannot participate. Dean and Bobby are still talking when Jimmy goes to bed. He’s tired, and he’s feeling off balance and unhappy, as though he’ll never fit in this life.

 

Jimmy had fit with Amelia and Claire; he’d been happy. He had wanted his life to matter—still wants his life to matter—but he fears that he will never be the hunter he needs to be for that to happen.

 

He’s still awake when the bedroom door creaks open and Dean slips inside. “Jimmy?”

 

“I’m awake.”

 

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, on the side farthest from Jimmy. “You okay? You were pretty quiet tonight.”

 

“I’m fine,” Jimmy assures him. It’s the lie Jimmy tells most often, the lie that sometimes even he believes.

 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well, get some sleep. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll try,” Jimmy promises and feels the bed shift as Dean rises. “The bed is big enough for both of us,” Jimmy suggests diffidently. “If you don’t want to sleep on the couch.”

 

Dean chuckles. “No, man. I’m good. Sleep well, Jimmy.”

 

Jimmy wishes it were that easy.

 

~~~~~

 

One werewolf turns out to be two and more trouble than they’d anticipated. It might not have turned out so badly if they’d arrived a few minutes earlier—before one of the victims got mauled—or a few minutes later—after the victim had died. Instead, they come upon the werewolf just as it’s finishing up its kill, and Dean shoots it between the eyes.

 

Jimmy immediately goes to the victim and puts his hand on her chest. She’s a middle-aged woman, maybe someone’s mother, someone’s wife. He reacts instinctively, just as he had when he’d discovered his gift.

 

The power flows through him in a trickle, and then turns into a flood, and it feels good until the healing is done and the pain hits him hard. Jimmy sags and closes his eyes, hearing the woman’s frightened cries. “What happened? What was that?” she asks over and over again.

 

“It’s okay,” Dean says, trying to comfort her, but his words are interrupted by the snarl of another werewolf. The creature hits Dean from the left, and they tumble to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

 

Jimmy grabs for the shotgun he’d discarded a moment ago and brings it to bear. There’s no way to fire without hitting Dean too, and he sets it aside to pull the 9 mil out of the back of his waistband.

 

“Dean!” Jimmy shouts his warning, cursing his trembling limbs. He’s lightheaded and he’s afraid that he’ll pass out, leaving Dean to deal with the creature on his own.

 

Dean kicks the werewolf off of him, back towards Jimmy, who empties a clip into its chest. Jimmy’s surprised but pleased when the werewolf slumps, dead before it hits the ground, and Jimmy scrambles over to where Dean sprawls.

 

Jimmy smells blood, and he reaches for Dean immediately.

 

“Jimmy, no,” Dean groans. “I’m okay.”

 

“You’re hurt.”

 

“And you can’t heal two people in one night,” Dean snaps.

 

“It would be more accurate to say that I’ve never tried,” Jimmy responds and reaches for Dean.

 

The healing comes harder this time, and Jimmy feels his muscles go rigid as he feels rent flesh heal, the poison burn out of Dean’s veins, and the torn ligaments in Dean’s right knee mend. He’s not entirely surprised when he collapses on top of Dean and darkness overtakes him for a long time.

 

When Jimmy comes to, he’s lying on a motel bed in his boxers with fresh bandages on his wounds. His head aches so badly, Jimmy thinks he’d much prefer that it not be connected to his body, and he whimpers a little.

 

“Next time, maybe you’ll listen to me.”

 

Jimmy props himself up on one elbow to see Dean sitting at the small table. “I’ll listen to you as long as you don’t have werewolf poison in your veins.”

 

“You could tell that?”

 

“I can always tell,” Jimmy replies.

 

Dean glares at him, and then says begrudgingly, “Thanks. But seriously, man, you can’t do that again. You stopped breathing for a minute.”

 

Jimmy sighs. “How was the woman?”

 

“Freaked as hell, but she’ll be fine,” Dean replies. “You need to get some sleep.”

 

Jimmy rubs his forehead. “Do we have any aspirin?”

 

“We’ve got something better than that,” Dean says, “and I’m not taking no for an answer this time, Jimmy. You need something that’s going to knock you out for a while.”

 

Jimmy doesn’t argue, mostly because he knows it’s pointless, not when Dean takes that tone of voice. He takes the pills Dean holds out, but his hand is trembling too badly to hold the glass of water without spilling it.

 

“Dammit, Jimmy,” Dean hisses. He holds the glass to Jimmy’s mouth. “You can’t fucking do this again. Promise me.”

 

“If it’s your life or mine—”

 

“Fuck, no,” Dean spits out. “I’m not doing this again. Nobody trades their life for mine.”

 

Jimmy looks away, unable to meet Dean’s intense gaze.

 

“Promise me.”

 

“I can’t make that promise,” Jimmy finally replies in a low voice.

 

Dean leans in, resting his forehead against Jimmy’s. One hand cups the back of Jimmy’s neck, and the other rests on his bare shoulder. “Okay,” Dean says eventually, and Jimmy can feel his warm breath against his cheek. “Just—be careful with this. I know you don’t want this to make you a liability, and you want to help people, but not at the expense of your own life.”

 

“I’ll try.” It’s the only promise that Jimmy can make right now.

 

~~~~~

 

Jimmy sleeps late into the next afternoon, and by the time he wakes, Dean has found their next job in Wyoming. It’s a long trek, and Jimmy uses the time to call Amelia and Claire, since he missed his check-in the previous night.

 

Claire answers, and she chatters away happily. “When will you be back, Daddy?” she finally asks.

 

“I don’t know, baby,” Jimmy replies. “We’ve got a job in Cheyenne now, but maybe we’ll head that way after we’re done.”

 

“I miss you,” Claire admits.

 

“I miss you, too.” Jimmy glances at Dean, who is focusing steadfastly on the road ahead. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

 

“I know.” Claire hesitates before she admits, “I had a dream about him. He said he wouldn’t ask for me again.”

 

Jimmy closes his eyes. “He’s always going to come to me first, Claire. And if it’s not me, he’ll have to choose someone else; he promised me that much.”

 

“I know. I promised.”

 

“And I promise I’m going to try to tell him no,” Jimmy says. No matter how much he might want to, no matter how much he might crave the abdication of will, he give up when he’s asked his daughter to fight.

 

“Do you want to talk to Mom?” Claire asks.

 

Jimmy draws in a breath. “Sure. I love you, Claire.”

 

“Love you, too.”

 

When Amelia gets on the phone a moment later, Jimmy doesn’t know how to begin. “Hey,” he finally says.

 

“Hi.” Amelia’s voice holds some hesitation. “How are you?”

 

“Good,” he lies. He’s still exhausted and shaky from the previous day’s activities, but Amelia doesn’t need to know that. “You?”

 

“I’m okay. I’m good,” she amends. She pauses and adds, “I feel like I should tell you—I’m seeing someone.”

 

Jimmy feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He’s known this would happen eventually, but he never thought it would be so soon. “I see,” he manages. “I—okay.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Amelia says, sounding absolutely miserable, which perversely makes him feel a little better. “I know it’s too soon, it’s just—”

 

“It’s not too soon,” Jimmy says mechanically. “We’ve—I understand.” He wants to make her feel better; he loves her. He wants her to be happy—even if it’s not with him. “If it happens…”

 

“Yeah.” He hears her take a deep breath. “How are you really, Jimmy? Are you okay?”

 

Jimmy knows that she’s asking for absolution, to know that he’s okay with Dean, freeing her up to be happy with someone else. The worst part, Jimmy thinks, is that this new guy is going to be a bigger part of Claire’s life than he ever can be.

 

He’s still in love with Amelia, and so her moving on hurts, but Claire’s the one he really cares about.

 

“I’m okay,” he insists. “I just want you to be happy.”

 

“You, too,” Amelia replies. “Jimmy, I—”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimmy says, infusing an assurance he doesn’t feel into his voice. “I think I may be losing signal. I’ll call again as soon as I can.”

 

When Jimmy hangs up, he closes his eyes, his heart beating double-time in his chest.

 

“What was that about?” Dean asks.

 

“Amelia wanted to tell me that she was seeing someone else.”

 

There’s a long pause, and Dean finally says, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”

 

“Say whatever you want,” Jimmy says. “We’re friends, right? You should be able to say whatever you like.”

 

Dean doesn’t reply for a long time, and then he says, “Okay, then. I kind of think that your wife was an idiot for kicking you out in the first place.”

 

“Dean,” Jimmy begins.

 

“No, you said I could say anything I wanted to, right?” Dean barrels ahead. “So, I’m saying that Amelia was nuts for sending you away, and she’s fucking crazy for trying to move on with someone else.”

 

“I’m not the same man she married,” Jimmy insists, defending Amelia out of a sense of duty. “You can’t blame her for wanting something _normal_.”

 

Dean scowled at the road ahead. “Sure I can. She knows better.”

 

Jimmy feels a reluctant smile pull at his lips. “Thank you.”

 

“I’m serious, Jimmy. Amelia knows what’s really out there, and she knows what you went through. She should be able to make allowances.”

 

Jimmy shakes his head. “We all have our breaking points, Dean.”

 

“And you?” Dean demands. “Where’s your breaking point?”

 

Jimmy gives that question serious consideration. “As long as Claire is safe, I think I can withstand anything. She’s what matters.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, and there’s a wistful smile on his lips. “I get that.”

 

Jimmy knows that Dean is thinking about Sam, and he stares out the window. “I know,” he finally says. “I’m sorry about Sam. I don’t think I’ve said that before.”

 

“He was doing what he thought was right,” Dean replies. “And he saved the world. I guess that has to be enough.”

 

~~~~~

 

The job in Wyoming turns out to be a skinwalker bent on some kind of complicated revenge; Jimmy is grateful that Dean shoots him while in dog form, because killing a normal-looking guy sucks.

 

Jimmy isn’t sure what it means that it’s a hell of a lot easier to shoot something that doesn’t look human, but it is, at least for him.

 

And he has to admit that he’s grateful he doesn’t need to heal anyone, because Jimmy thinks that might have pushed it too far.

 

After Wyoming, they head to Kansas, where there’s been a rash of demon possessions. It’s the first time Jimmy’s had to deal with a possession since his neighbors had been killed back when Castiel had left him the first time.

 

“You feeling better?” Dean asks.

 

Jimmy glances in the mirror to check his tie. “I never felt that bad, Dean.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Hold out your hand.”

 

Jimmy sighs but does as ordered. Dean has a point; today is the first day since Fargo that his hand doesn’t shake.

 

Dean nods, apparently satisfied. “Okay, then. How are you coming on the exorcism?”

 

“ _Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei_.” Jimmy speaks the opening words to the ritual with easy assurance. He’s spent the last day in the car memorizing the exorcism ritual backwards and forwards.

 

Dean smiles with pleasure. “Great. We should have it covered then.”

 

They almost do have it covered, and they probably would have managed to get out scot-free, but when they corner the demon, it takes a hostage. Sister Bernadette, a young nun, had been incredibly helpful when questioned, and had been giving them a tour of the school where the killings had occurred.

 

The demon possesses the body of a young woman with a round, innocent face and strawberry blonde hair, and she’s wearing the uniform of a Catholic schoolgirl. Her appearance is incongruous considering that she’s got a knife pressed against Sister Bernadette’s throat.

 

Dean distracts her with taunts as Jimmy begins the exorcism, murmuring the words he’s learned by rote quietly enough not to draw the attention of the demon.

 

The demon must feel the power of the ancient ritual, however, because the demon whirls to see Jimmy crouching in the corner. Jimmy forges on, but he’s not entirely surprised when the demon cuts Sister Bernadette’s throat, and blood sprays in a wide arc.

 

A few months ago he might have faltered, but he completes the ritual and watches the demon leave the girl’s body in a flood of black smoke.

 

Jimmy scrambles across the floor to Sister Bernadette, who’s clutching her throat in a futile attempt to keep the blood from pumping out.

 

“Hang on, hang on,” Jimmy murmurs, putting a hand on her shoulder.

 

The girl is weeping in the background, and Dean tries to comfort her, but Jimmy can feel Dean’s eyes on him.

 

The power rushes through him, and Jimmy gasps as his back arches when it leaves his body in a rush, and he slumps to the ground.

 

“Jimmy!” Dean calls.

 

“I’m okay,” Jimmy says faintly. “Get the girl out of here.”

 

Sister Bernadette sits up, her eyes wide with shock. “What did you do?”

 

“It’s no big deal,” Jimmy replies. “You should probably get out of here.”

 

Sister Bernadette shakes her head. “No, you—” She reaches out to grab Jimmy’s hand, pushing his sleeve up, revealing blood-soaked gauze. “You’re blessed.”

 

Jimmy is shaking, and he draws back as though he’s been burned. “This is _not_ a blessing.”

 

Sister Bernadette reaches for his other sleeve, revealing more gauze. “No, I saw this earlier. I thought—but you bear the marks of Christ. You have the gift of healing. You _are_ blessed.”

 

“This is _not_ a fucking blessing!” Jimmy shouts.

 

“Jimmy.” Dean pulls at his shoulder. “We have to go. Come on, Jimmy.”

 

Sister Bernadette gets to her feet. “No, you should stay. The mother superior—”

 

“Will have to do without him,” Dean replies. “Let’s _go_.”

 

He drags Jimmy out before Sister Bernadette can offer up any further arguments. “Are you good for a while?” Dean asks.

 

Jimmy nods. “What are you thinking?”

 

“We drive long enough that we don’t have to worry about the sister calling the press or anyone else about you—the miracle man.”

 

“I’m not a fucking miracle man,” Jimmy snaps.

 

Dean shoots him a look. “Jimmy—”

 

“She called this a _blessing_ ,” Jimmy snarls. He’s still shaking, feeling sick and light-headed, although he can’t say whether it’s weakness or rage. “God is a fucking absentee father, and she thinks this is a fucking _blessing_.”

 

Dean presses his lips together tightly for a moment, and then says, “You good to go for a while?”

 

Jimmy nods. “I’m good. We—we have to get out of here.” The rage leaves him as quickly as it came on, and Jimmy slumps against the door. “Dammit.”

 

Dean doesn’t say anything else. He just drives, and Jimmy stares out the window at the rapidly deepening gloom. Jimmy falls asleep about an hour into the drive, and awakens when Dean shakes him.

 

“What?” Jimmy asks, still groggy.

 

“We’re stopping for the night, man. Do you need help?”

 

Jimmy waves him off, but knows from experience that Dean won’t take no for an answer.

 

“I’ll grab the bags,” Dean says. “Just hang tight a minute, okay?”

 

Jimmy takes a moment to gather his wits. His wrists, ankles, and side ache, his head pounds in time to his heartbeat, and he’s still shaking.

 

He can’t be certain, but he thinks the weakness might be lasting longer every time he heals another person.

 

Dean comes around to open Jimmy’s door, both their bags in one hand. “Come on.”

 

Jimmy accepts Dean’s help out of the Impala by necessity and limps into the motel room after him, a couple of steps behind. He collapses on the nearest bed, knowing that Dean would prefer that one but unable to move any farther.

 

“Shit, Jimmy, why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” Dean demands, dropping onto the bed next to him.

 

“Because there was nothing you could do.” Jimmy pulls his tie off with fingers beginning to go numb. “And because we needed to get out of town before a horde of nuns descended on us.”

 

“Could have been worse,” Dean suggests, pulling Jimmy’s suit jacket off. “Could have been witches.”

 

Jimmy grunts. “I’ll take your word for it.” He attempts the buttons on his dress shirt, but his fingers don’t seem to be working very well.

 

“Stop that,” Dean orders, brushing Jimmy’s hands away. “Let me.”

 

Jimmy sighs and allows Dean to unbutton his shirt.

 

They have no modesty around each other now; there have been too many motel rooms, too many nights where Jimmy has been too shaky, too wrung out, to undress himself. Dean’s hands treat him with the same rough care he always uses, and then he starts on the bandages.

 

Jimmy closes his eyes, wishing he could summon up his earlier anger; it might give him a little energy.

 

“You okay?” Dean asks.

 

“No, I’m not,” Jimmy replies flatly. “I don’t want this, Dean.”

 

Dean grips Jimmy’s forearm just above the aching wound, which is still oozing blood. He keeps his touch gentle, though, and Jimmy flushes hotly. “We don’t always get what we want.”

 

Jimmy knows that all too well, but at that moment he wants _something_ to hold on to, even if it isn’t something he would have chosen for himself. Dean’s face is just inches from his own, and all Jimmy has to do—

 

Before he can think better of it, Jimmy leans in and presses his lips to Dean’s. He’s never kissed another man before, but it isn’t so different from kissing a woman—not that Jimmy has much experience there either. Amelia had been his college sweetheart, and he’d dated only two other girls before that.

 

Dean is the fourth person he’s ever kissed, and Dean’s lips give way under his own easily, and Dean’s free hand comes up to touch Jimmy’s cheek briefly before Dean pulls away, his eyes wide, and his expression stunned.

 

Jimmy’s heart sinks. Judging by Dean’s expression, this has been a huge mistake. “Sorry,” he mutters, freeing himself from Dean’s warm hand and brushing past him. Jimmy retreats to the bathroom, the only possibility open to him right now with his state of undress. He locks the door behind him and slides down the wall to sit on the floor.

 

He feels the warm trickle of blood down his hands and side. Dean hadn’t finished patching him up, and he’s still bleeding sluggishly, but Jimmy doesn’t care. If he’s fucked this up…

 

Jimmy can’t finish the thought. Dean is the only thing he has left.

 

Dean rattles the doorknob. “Jimmy!”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Open the damn door, Jimmy!”

 

“Fuck off!”

 

There’s a long moment of silence when Jimmy thought Dean might take him at his word, and then the door rattles again and opens. Dean stares at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Jimmy rests his forehead on his knees. “Forget it.”

 

“No, I don’t think I will.” Jimmy hears a rustle of fabric, and feels the warmth of Dean’s body as he kneels down next to him. “Sometimes, you’re a fucking idiot,” Dean murmurs, and tilts Jimmy’s head up with gentle pressure from two fingers.

 

This time, Dean is the one who kisses Jimmy, his mouth warm and hungry and _needy_ , and Jimmy groans.

 

“You’re in no shape for this,” Dean mumbles against Jimmy’s lips. “Let me get you fixed up.”

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jimmy insists.

 

“You’re shaking.”

 

“That’s not from my injuries.”

 

“You’re _bleeding_ ,” Dean points out inexorably. “Come on. You can shower in the morning.”

 

Jimmy has no idea what they’re doing, but Dean refuses to listen to argument. He manhandles Jimmy up on his feet and then onto the bed, where he makes quick work of bandaging Jimmy’s wounds.

 

“You’re wrong, you know,” Dean says quietly as he tapes gauze over the wound in Jimmy’s side. “This might not be a blessing, but it’s not a curse.”

 

Jimmy frowns. “I don’t—”

 

“This _isn’t_ _a curse_.” Dean’s fingers skim the sensitive skin above the wound, tracing the hard lines of Jimmy’s ribs. “You’re saving lives.”

 

Jimmy swallows hard. “I saved _your_ life.”

 

“Yeah, you did. So, like I said, not a curse.”

 

“Far be it from me to deprive the world of your presence,” Jimmy replies with a sardonic smile.

 

“Now you’re getting it.” Dean kisses him again, softly, sweetly, and Jimmy feels the tension ease.

 

Jimmy has no idea what this is, whether Dean feels something more than pity, or indebtedness, or if he cares for Jimmy as more than a friend. Maybe this is just one friend helping another out; maybe Jimmy is just convenient.

 

“Come on.” Dean nudges Jimmy back, helping him slide under the covers. “You need to sleep.”

 

Jimmy shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. I haven’t been able to lately.”

 

Dean gives him a long look. “All right. Let’s see what we can do about that.” He undresses slowly, deliberately, and Jimmy watches him intently, frankly. It’s the first time he’s felt free to really _look_ , and he does so, his eyes tracing the hard planes of Dean’s chest and stomach, the tattoo etched into the skin above his heart, the way his muscles bunch as he pulls his t-shirt off over his head.

 

Dean remains silent up to the point that he slips into bed next to Jimmy. Dean runs a hand down Jimmy’s chest and then cups his cock, which is growing hard in spite of the pain and blood loss.

 

“How long has it been?” Dean asks in a low voice.

 

Jimmy shakes his head.

 

“Seriously, Jimmy, how long has it been?” Dean asks, a new urgency in his voice.

 

“I don’t know. Since—since before—before this started.”

 

“Fuck,” Dean curses. “No wonder you’re wound tight.”

 

“Don’t do this unless you mean it,” Jimmy warns him. “I don’t think—”

 

“Shh,” Dean soothes. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about this for a while.” He jacks Jimmy off slowly, his hand sure and confident. Jimmy arches his back, a different sort of energy rushing through his veins as his orgasm builds.

 

Jimmy hasn’t touched himself in months—his wrists are messed up enough that it makes holding a gun problematic. The kind of sure, steady rhythm Dean is keeping around his cock is entirely beyond him.

 

It doesn’t take long, and Jimmy’s hips stutter against the bed as he comes all over Dean’s hand.

 

“I can’t return the favor,” Jimmy admits in a low tone once he’s found his voice again.

 

Dean brushes his clean hand over Jimmy’s hair. “Don’t worry about it. Just sleep.”

 

When Dean begins to get up, Jimmy makes a low sound of protest.

 

“I’m going to be right back,” Dean promises.

 

He’s as good as his word. Dean emerges from the bathroom a few moments later and slips back into bed next to Jimmy, spooning him from behind. Jimmy feels Dean’s erection press into him through the thin material of his boxer-briefs, and he draws a deep, hitching breath.

 

“You could—I’d let you,” Jimmy manages, feeling a thrill of fear and excitement. “If you wanted.

 

He feels Dean press his lips against his bare shoulder. “Another night, maybe. Sleep, Jimmy.”

 

“Dean—”

 

“Another night, when you’re not already half unconscious,” Dean murmurs. “We’ve got all the time in the world, as long as you don’t overdo it.”

 

“Good reason not to,” Jimmy murmurs.

 

He feels Dean smile against his shoulder. “Seriously, Jimmy. You’ve got to start taking care of yourself. I’m not willing to lose somebody else I give a damn about.”

 

“Okay,” Jimmy replies and feels Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck. “Then I promise.”

 

Dean’s grip tightens around him in reply, and Jimmy falls asleep, soothed by the Dean’s breathing and the rhythm of his heart, content for the first time in months.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The Wounds Verse" | Parts 1-4 / written by enigmaticblue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/443072) by [EosRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EosRose/pseuds/EosRose)




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